The Big Day
by Inkess
Summary: Shepard and Garrus get married on Palaven. Rated M for sexytimes near the end.


**This is a "missing scene" from Sunblock, one of my other stories. Shep and Garrus get married there, but in a time skip. Now I'm covering it here in full detail. If you haven't read Sunblock yet, I recommend you read the first chapter, at least. Some stuff is referenced here, and you might not get it.**

* * *

"Stop squirming around!" Solana admonished, her nimble fingers working on Shepard's back. Even after several years had passed since she got involved in any kind of combat, Shepard couldn't stand the thought of turning her back on someone. Despite the warning she turned around, trying to assess _what _exactly the turian woman did to her.

"Seriously, stop!" There was a grumbling note to Solana's subharmonics. "These _human _buttons are trying to break my talons without your squirming!" In the past few months since she had arrived to Palaven, Shepard became an expert on reading turian voices. Their faces might have been rigid, expressionless masks, but their voices… their voices revealed everything one needed to know about a turian's mood.

Depending on the owner, a turian voice could do a lot of interesting things to human mood. Especially Garrus. Garrus could _melt_ her using his voice alone.

"Done." Solana's voice, in many ways similar to her brother's, only pitched higher, made her flinch. Not a good idea to think about that now. "You look fantastic! The cowl was a great idea."

Shepard sighed and turned towards the mirror hanging on the wall. The sudden motion made one of her legs wobble, and she nearly slipped.

"Shit!" Shepard cursed as Solana steadied her by putting an arm around her waist, not saying a word. Shepard sighed again, deeper than before, and looked at her reflection.

The dress. She was supposed to look at her wedding dress, but the only thing she saw were her scars. They were as bad as when she woke up in the Cerberus facility after dying over Alchera, only they weren't glowing. She ran a hand across them, feeling each mark on her skin like a burn on her finger. A proper punishment for someone like h—

Solana's hand moved to her shoulder, holding it in a reassuring grip. "Don't think about that," the turian woman whispered, her subharmonics taking the ring of command that was almost inappropriate to the gentleness of her primary voice.

"Yeah," Shepard sighed. "Not here, not now, not ever."

At least the voices were quiet. Ghosts slept in their forest, waiting for her to return.

Solana's nimble hands ran over the dress, smoothing the wrinkles and adjusting it to her body. Not that it needed much adjusting. It fit her perfectly. Shepard looked in the mirror again, finally able to focus on the dress and not on her face.

It was blue. She had always loved blue, and this wasn't any blue, either. It was _his_ blue; the same blue on his beloved face. And tomorrow it would become _her_ blue.

Tomorrow she would become a member of the Clan Vakarian.

Solana startled her from her reverie by handing her a headdress that looked like a female turian's fringe. Shepard accepted it and settled it on her head. It looked… surprisingly good. She still had her hair, but she had a fringe, too. The dress had a cowl, but it hugged her very human curves as well. Best of both worlds. Proof that turians and humans could co-exist instead of killing—

_Or maybe you'll be just a hybrid that everyone hates. _

Oh, no. Not the voice of that ghostly child.

_No one loves you. You don't deserve it._

"Garrus loves me," she muttered under her breath. "Good enough for me."

Solana perked up her mandibles but said nothing. Damn turian senses could pick up anything. Well. Anyone who spent more than a day with her knew that _Commander Shepard heard voices. _Nothing new there.

Shaking her head, Shepard forced herself to stop thinking about that. "It's fantastic." She gave her assessment finally. "I love the headdress."

Solana nodded. "I didn't like the idea at first, to be honest. It sounded so weird. But now I think it suits you great."

Shepard smiled at her reflection. Yes, she thought it looked great, too.

"There is one suggestion I have," Solana added. Her mandibles clicked as she spoke, and that meant she felt uncomfortable.

"Yes?"

"A bride's dress is usually adorned with markings of her clan." Solana paused. "This one has none. It's making you look, well…"

"Clanless? Barefaced?"

Solana nodded.

"I don't have a family. Not anymore." Shepard shrugged. It didn't even hurt to talk about this anymore. She had newer, fresher traumas to worry about. "Anderson is dead, too. I retired from the Alliance. I _am_ clanless."

"Not true." Solana shook her head. "You are Alliance. At least in the eyes of the turians. A soldier who deserved to be recorded in the annals of a unit is a member in spirit even after she retires… Hell, even after she dies. And you _made_ those annals."

"I see." Interesting concept, those turian spirits. Sometimes they made more sense than all human religions put together. If given enough time, Shepard just might start believing in them. "I still have my old N7 pin. That should do."

Shepard wobbled over to her dresser and pulled out a drawer. After rummaging through it for several minutes, she finally dug the pin out. She attached it above her right breast and paraded in front of Solana – as steadily as she could.

"Much better." This time, Solana's mandibles flexed. That meant she smiled. "Too bad the dress won't last longer than tomorrow evening."

"What do you mean?" Shepard crooked an eyebrow.

Solana leaned in forward. "You know what they say, a bonding isn't a bonding unless the dress gets ripped off the bride," she said, reducing her voice to a whisper.

"What?"

"My brother hasn't told you? You're supposed to claim each other after the celebration."

"Um… Claim?" Spirits damn it, what was that supposed to mean? Having sex in front of everyone or something?

Also, did she just say _spirits_? Was she going to end up… converted to the turian faith? What was she supposed to do anyway to convert?

Nah. She just picked up the phrase from Garrus. Nothing more.

Solana rolled her eyes. "He really didn't tell you. Spirits… You're supposed to give each other the time of your lives in bed. To show you're meant for each other. That you know what the other one needs and desires. It can get our… predatory instincts running. Maybe that's why he didn't—"

"No." Shepard cut her off. "We've had sex for years and he never hurt me. Never. That's not— Oh!"

Solana crossed her arms over her chest, waiting. Shepard played with a stray strand of her hair that fought to escape the headdress. Awkward. The only possible word to describe what she wanted to say.

"There's… one thing I've always wanted to do for him. He never let me." Shepard took a deep breath. "Says it would kill him if something happened to me. You know, _fluids_."

_"So, don't ingest."_ Mordin's voice echoed in her head. Shepard fought the tears that tried to prickle her eyes. Another death marked on her conscience.

"Oh." Solana rubbed the plates on the back of her neck. "So he thinks you'd feel obligated do it when you claim each other, and wanted to prevent it. How… thoughtful of my brother." She chuckled.

"He's come a really long way from that rash and headstrong C-Sec officer I met on the Citadel, hasn't he?" Shepard chuckled as well. The dark memories disappeared, along with awkwardness.

"You should have seen him as a kid." Solana grinned. "I had to grow up with him. Believe me, it wasn't easy."

"Oh, I believe you. He was almost unbearable until I got him into shape during the chase after Saren."

Solana hugged her. "You're so lucky to have each other. I've never seen a couple that fits together as well as you two, with or without claiming. I wish you all the best."

"Thank you," Shepard replied, choking. Hugging Solana felt like hugging a family member. Maybe she _could _get a normal life, after all.

"Now!" Solana released her, getting all business-like again. "Time to get you out of your dress! You don't want to tear or stain it – at least not until tomorrow evening!"

Shepard laughed. It felt so good to laugh.

* * *

Garrus draped the blue robe around him and adjusted it to sit on his shoulders better. Smirking, he admired his look in the mirror. The scars on the right side of his face had nearly faded. He even got his facial markings fixed since he and Shepard arrived to Palaven.

Shepard.

Feeling his heart flutter at the mention of his mate's name – soon to be his _legal_ mate – Garrus reached for one of those _annoying_ fringe-caps and covered his head with it. His fringe started to itch mere _seconds_ after he put it on.

He hated those things with a vengeance. Still, the Primarch of Palaven had to wear a full ceremonial outfit while getting bonded.

_"I know you hate it." _The voice of his beloved mate echoed within his mind. _"But this is for them. To show them that we can love each other _and _play nice for the diplomats. We survive that, and we're back to normal."_

Shaking his head, Garrus reached into the pocket of his extravagant pants and pulled out a small jewelry box. Inside there were two golden hoops. Wedding rings, they were called. The smaller one had the name _Garrus _engraved in human script, and the larger one _Shepard_ in turian.

If Shepard could wear his clan's markings then by the spirits, and Liara's Goddess, and Thane's Kalahira, and the myriad of human gods and goddesses, he could wear the human bonding symbol.

Shepard had insisted on a purely turian ceremony, but this wasn't just for the diplomats and politicians. It was about them, too. Shepard had a tendency to neglect her own needs to please the others, but part of his job description was to set her on the right path.

This was going to be such a nice surprise for her.

Closing the box, Garrus returned it to his pocket and exited their apartment; no house, Shepard insisted. Too many turians still lived in tents to allow her such privileges with a clear conscience, she said. Flicking his omni-tool on for a moment, he checked the time. He didn't want to be late.

Someone waited for him at the other side of the door. Garrus cursed, and walked past the turian who moved to meet him, heading for his skycar.

_Too late,_ he thought.

"Garrus, wait!" He heard the familiar voice behind him. Paying no attention, he reached for the door control on his vehicle.

"Garrus, my son, I'm sorry!"

_My son_ and _I'm sorry._ Those were the two phrases he had never expected to hear from him. He froze, unsure what to do. The ring to his father's subharmonics sounded _almost_ sincere.

"I'm going to be late for my own bonding." Garrus turned around, straightening. "You don't want that, do you?" He couldn't control the sarcasm that dripped from his voice. Whatever closeness he had found with his father during the Reaper War was lost from the moment the elder Vakarian made a remark about all turians that died on Earth, strongly hinting Shepard was to blame for that.

"Garrus…" His father moved closer, but still well outside his reach. "I'm really sorry." His mandibles clicked.

"You said that already." Garrus wouldn't, couldn't relent. His mate's honor was at stake.

"So many of my friends died on Earth." The elder Vakarian bowed his head low. "Solana was hurt – at one time things didn't look good. I grieved. I still haven't gotten over the death of your mother, and I had to deal with so much more loss. Please understand me, Son. I've said some things that I shouldn't have, and I… I apologize. Deeply."

_Son._ Garrus felt his mandibles flutter, despite himself. The images of his dead squad from Omega flashed before his eyes. He knew grief and how it burned like acid on the inside, making him say or do things he never imagined he could.

Acting on an impulse, he approached his father and gripped his wrist. For a fleeting moment he felt the urge to do a human handshake. That wouldn't be a good idea in a situation like this.

"Apology accepted… Father."

The elder Vakarian returned the gesture. They both stood like that for several long moments, feeling the broken bridges between them fix themselves, or at least getting a good patch job.

"I won't keep you anymore." His father released him. "I wish you all the best. Really. Even if you don't believe me."

_I believe you,_ Garrus wanted to say, but his tongue refused to move. Too soon. Still, something good just happened between them, and he couldn't ignore the warmth that enveloped his heart. "Thank you," was all that he said in the end.

Maybe this bonding would indeed be blessed by the spirits.

Entering the skycar at last, he typed in the location for Atrin's Throne Hall in the autopilot interface and leaned back. Of all possible places that were _appropriate_ for a primarch to bond in, and were still structurally sound, this one sounded the most fitting.

Atrin Impera changed the world order during her rule, inventing the system of meritocracy that turians used to the day. She also rose from a lower caste to a regent, and finally an empress whose empire spanned over the entire known world. The symbolism was just too great for either of them to ignore it.

Changing the world… worlds… galaxy and rising from a lowly farmer to a hero was Shepard's forte. No doubt about it, no matter what some of the more… hot-headed politicians had to say about her deeds.

Garrus' heart pounded in his chest when he approached the familiar silver spire in the center of Cipritine that held the Throne Hall at its base. His hand played with the golden chain around his cowl, picking and tugging on it like it did something wrong. Realizing what he had been doing, Garrus forced his hand to rest still at his side. No point in looking like a nervous wreck in front of everyone.

He wondered how Shepard looked in her bonding dress. She and Solana spent numerous hours over the past few weeks trying to get it just _perfect_. According to the tradition, he wasn't supposed to see it until he reached the bonding place. That, and Shepard had to leave earlier and get dressed at the Hall, despite the tradition. Traveling with her dress scrunched up in the enviro-suit would ruin all those weeks of effort.

As the autopilot searched for the best landing spot outside the spire, Garrus spotted Adrien Victus waiting outside, his sharp eyes focusing on the incoming vehicles like a bird-of-prey's. Relief relaxed his mandibles when he saw Garrus approaching.

They exchanged the wrist-grip. "All set?" Garrus asked.

"The bride's in her dress and waiting." The former primarch winked. "Good thing you're not late."

Garrus chuckled, a little forced, picking at the hem of his robe.

"Now, now, no need to be nervous." Victus grinned. "All you have to do is say you accept her in your clan when I ask and—"

"And paint the markings on her face. You'll give me the paint. I know, Adrien." Garrus stuck his arm to his side, hoping it won't wander off to do nervous things on its own this time.

It was good they had Victus to lead the ceremony. He'd feel even more uncomfortable with anyone else. Normally, they'd be stuck with whoever was their superior in the Hierarchy, but being at the top, Garrus could _choose._ And choosing the former primarch, and their friend at that, seemed like the right thing. No one could complain.

Adrien patted his shoulder and disappeared into the building. Garrus took a deep breath, adjusted his robe one more time, checked if his boots properly covered his spurs and did the same.

There, at the giant double door leading into the throne room itself, stood Shepard clad in blue, the same shade as his robe, a headdress shaped like a turian fringe on her head. The beauty of that image nearly broke his heart. In her hands she held a bouquet of silver flowers. _Srebani._ Quite common in the jungles around Cipritine, or at least they were before the most of the city and its surroundings got burned into ash. Her favorite.

_"Why _srebani?_"_ He heard himself ask in the echo of his mind's voice. _"So ordinary. You deserve better, like—"_

_"Silly, there are no silver flowers on Earth," _Shepard admonished while caressing a single _sreban_ in a vase on the table. _"They're beautiful beyond words. I want them for my wedding."_

Wedding. That's how they called it on Earth, the weird place where no silver flowers existed and the sky was as blue as his eyes. That's how she called his eyes. Sky-blue.

The sky was green. Like her eyes. How did she call them? Emerald? A gem, or something like—

He ran out of time for mind wandering. She smiled at him, offering the hand holding the bouquet. He took it, trying to ignore that she leaned on his arm a little more than necessary, and pushed the door open. Neither of them felt the need to say anything as they walked through the crowd; through the politicians and the press; through the diplomats and the generals; through their small cluster of friends who stood near the opposite end of the hall. He recognized Liara and Kaidan and a handful of others.

He also didn't fail to notice that Joker wasn't among them. And he hoped Tali was here in spirit.

Strange, but the nervousness had faded away from the moment their hands touched. His hand – and Shepard's too, he noticed – was perfectly still when they reached Victus and offered him the flowers.

As Victus took the bouquet, the choir hidden in the corner of the hall sang _One in Spirit, Body and Mind_, the bonding song. Their dual-toned voices created harmonies within harmonies that plucked at the strings of his heart. He had heard it before, of course, but it was different when sung for _him._ He wondered if Shepard could pick up the pure joy created by their subharmonics at all. Human ears had such a limited range. Her lower lip shook when he looked at her, proving that she could.

Other races sometimes forgot that the bombast-filled battle hymns weren't the only kind of music turians could create. Feeling pride for his species, Garrus waited for the song to finish.

Once the silence had blanketed the hall again, Victus placed their flowers in a decorative vase in front of Garrus and Shepard. Their offering to the spirits to draw them to this hall and fill their future union with beauty and happiness.

Victus then turned to Shepard. "Commander Jane Shepard," he began. Garrus barely held in a flinch at the mention of her given name. Even he didn't hear it often. "Do you wish to bond with Primarch Garrus Vakarian and his clan?"

"I relinquish the Alliance, my clan, and bond with Vakarian and his clan." She unclipped her old N7 pin as she spoke and set it on the table next to the flowers. How foolish of him not to notice it until now.

This wasn't planned before. Solana had to have her talons in this. Good thing she did. Somewhere, someone could accuse Shepard of being clanless prior her bonding and use it against him. He felt a burden he didn't know he had fall off his shoulders.

Victus turned to him. The moment had arrived.

"Primarch Garrus Vakarian, do you accept Commander Jane Shepard as your bondmate and a member of your clan?"

His heart skipped a beat, but his voice was steady. Subharmonics, too. "I accept and welcome her."

"Then mark her as such," Victus said, handing him a bowl of blue paint and a brush.

Garrus took the proffered items. He dipped the brush in the paint, and drew the familiar lines on Shepard's face, ignoring the scars as best as he could. His fabled precision and focus paid off, and Shepard soon had flawless Vakarian markings covering her face.

Victus cleared throat. "There is one more thing left to do before I declare you bonded. Primarch Vakarian, if you will…"

Clamor spread across the hall. Of course, this was unexpected. Even Shepard eyed him quizzically as he drew the box from the pocket.

_"You didn't,"_ she mouthed as she recognized the objects inside. _"Oh my God."_

He took the rings out without fumbling, and slipped the smaller one on her finger – left hand, next-to-the-smallest one. He did his homework well. Then he pushed the larger one in her hand, and held out the smaller finger on his left claw. Shepard took the hint and slipped the ring on it.

_"Now_ I declare you bonded." Victus flexed his mandibles. "You may interlock your mand—I mean, you may kiss the bride."

Shepard chuckled as she turned her face at him. The facepaint had already dried by now, so he pulled her in and gave her the most human-like kiss he could.

* * *

"C'mon, it'll be fun!" Garrus grabbed by the hand and tried to drag her to the podium.

"Garrus," she protested, resisting his pull as hard as she could. "It's not like… like before. I _can't_ dance anymore. I'm a… I'm a…"

He stopped, drawing her closer and placing a talon over her lips. "I don't want to hear that word."

"I can barely walk!"

"You _will_ dance the tango with me." He furrowed his brow plates. "A turian wife has to _obey_ her husband." His subharmonics took the commanding note she secretly liked and couldn't resist.

"Garrus." She tried again.

"Well, she doesn't. But you _will_ obey my voice." He tugged on her arm again.

Dammit. So he knew. And he wasn't afraid to use it. There went her hope to skip the opening dance before dinner. Stupid turians and their trad—

They were in the middle of the dance floor now. Everyone – all the goddamn politicians and diplomats and friends – watched with interest. They looked eager to see her fiasco.

"Won't they mind a _human_ dance?" Shepard grasped at the last straw.

"They'll live." Garrus shrugged. "We've done enough to please them already. This is for us. _We _got bonded today."

The first bars of _their_ tango echoed in the giant throne room of some turian empress whose name she couldn't recall. They did a good job of transforming it into something resembling a ballroom after the ceremony, she noticed as Garrus grabbed her, sidling up his body against her.

Did someone turn up the heat? The hall and the audience disappeared from her mind as Garrus led her through the familiar rhythm. Their bodies brushed against each other, and with each touch the hot sensation increased. She had to be blushing by now.

Garrus had tiny droplets of sweat along his neck, mostly hidden by his cowl. Damned birds and their plates. Their dance did the same things to him as it did to her, and she was the one showing—

Their_ dance. _They danced. She danced. She followed his lead, and he supported her when her legs threatened to fail her. He somehow knew. He knew her better than anyone, in everything.

He knew her better than she knew herself. Unlike her, he believed she could do it.

The music ended after a while, and she arched his body into his. She couldn't quite bend over backwards like she did before the war, but it was enough to make him shiver.

"Now comes the really fun part," he drawled, helping her stand upright again. "The turian version of a sensual dance."

"Oh—oh, no! I have no idea how to… Why haven't you told me before?"

"You'd say no. You can't escape this way."

Yup. He knew her very well.

The music started again, this time different, rumbling, crawling. The intricate harmonies found their way _inside_ her somehow, doing interesting things to her core.

Garrus sidled up against her again, taking the lead. Heat flushed her face, and there was nothing she could do but follow. Although she didn't know the figures and the moves, somehow she managed not to tumble.

It felt so good to just let go and follow sometimes. She didn't have to be the one to solve all problems all the time. She could rely on Garrus, and let her carry her burdens.

_And turn me on with his smell,_ she thought suddenly. The scent of turian sweat and something _Garrus_ filled her nostrils as they danced, brushing against each other and intertwining their limbs. Wasn't this as close as possible to sex without actually doing it? Her loins ached and she had to hold back from licking the beads of sweat on his neck. And wasn't the fact that it was so public that added to the pain between her legs?

_No wonder they_ claim_ each other after this._

The music ended again, leaving them both panting. The crowd around them cheered.

Garrus touched his forehead to hers. "That was beautiful. I knew you could do it. You'll see, one day you'll walk normally again."

Listening to him, she could almost believe it. Normal… What _was_ normal when it came to her? Did normalcy exist, or was it just a dream?

No. No dreams. No forests. Not here, not now, not ever. The smell. Oh yes, the smell of Garrus.

She let him lead her to the table, her heart still pounding in her ears. No matter the exertion she'd just been through, she felt invigorated. Alive. Maybe a bit too hot. And quite miffed that she had to endure through the dinner to be alone with Garrus.

As they sat among their friends and other guests, Shepard put her diplomat face on. The one she had when dealing with the Council or the quarian Admiralty Board. It came with being a primarch's wife. At least the food tasted fresh, and not like frozen crap imported from who-knows-where she usually found in Cipritine.

_Just a little more. Just a little more of being The Shepard, and you can go being Garrus' wife for the rest of—_

Garrus brushed against her leg with his spur – again. She adjusted the fringe-headdress, wishing she had spur-boots as well. If she could turn into a turian somehow—

No. Garrus loved her for what she was. He showed it with every breath he made. No need to think otherwise.

Reaching for her glass of Asari Honey Mead – did Falere make that particular bottle, she wondered – Shepard found a small lump of paper next to it. She unfolded it, and discovered an unassuming white pill inside… and a message scrawled in turian script.

She sighed. Turian alphabet was so damn _difficult_. At least she recognized the signed name – Solana.

The rest, to the best of her deciphering ability, read, _"Removes irritation of right-handed organs."_ That didn't make any sense at all.

Wait. Right-handed?

Shepard looked at Garrus. He was in the middle of telling a joke to Adrien Victus. Good. She brought the paper under the table and scanned it with the omni-tool. It would come off as rude if people thought she messaged during her own wedding celebration.

_"Neutralizes the allergic effects of dextro-based organic material,"_ the translation said.

Oh, dear. Oh, Solana. How, where did she find this?

Shepard swallowed the pill. _If scientists make _this_, _she thought suddenly,_ why can't they make something that can let me go out without that damn enviro-suit?_ Then her gaze fell on Garrus again.

He was in for a surprise tonight.

* * *

Garrus unlocked the door to their apartment. Shepard clung to him, her arms around his waist. He carried the most of her weight without protest. She could lean on him all she wanted. Forever.

Sighing, he took the fringe-cap off his head and tossed in the far corner of the room.

Finally.

He awaited this moment the entire day, and at the same time dreaded it. Would he be up to the task? Was she too tired?

Shepard tightened her arms around him, burying her face in between his shoulder and cowl. Her heart pounded, and her skin burned hot. He could feel it through the fabric.

He wanted it gone. He wanted her dress gone, torn in ribbons at her feet, just like the ancient customs dictated. The entire ceremony, the wordplay and the dance, the music and the smiles seemed to lead to one point.

To their bedroom. His steps seemed to carry them there without his volition.

Shepard lifted her head, and pushed her lips against his mouth. Their tongues intertwined and he let himself go, for the first time today. He could just be and feel, and not worry if someone watched them.

Her mouth moved to the side of his head. "Now you're mine," she whispered. He shuddered.

Oh, spirits. She knew. She somehow knew. Solana? It had to—

Somehow, he found himself lying on his back on the bed, his robe missing from his shoulders. Shepard covered him with her body, pulling the dress over her hips in a crumpled mess as she straddled him. There was a wet spot on her panties.

He keened as his pelvic plates moved.

Shepard bowed her head and sucked on the tip of his mandible, her tongue circling, playing with it. Her deft fingers undid the clasps on his shirt, and she slid down his chest to kiss the plates and lick the cracks between them. Every flicker of her tongue made his breath hitch.

She moved on to his waist, crossing it in one long lick. He shivered and keened again.

As her nimble hands got rid of his pants, and her mouth continued downwards, he realized her intention. Squirming, he reached for her head, trying to push her away. Undeterred, she brushed her lips over the seam in his plates and pinned his wrists to the sheets.

"Shepard," he tried before the feel of her tongue in between the plates cut out his ability to speak. He felt the tip of his member poking free, struggling to enter her mouth.

No. No. What was he thinking? Just tasting his natural lubricant could make her mouth and throat swell and choke her.

"Shepard, no—oooh!"

_Yes. Yes._

He panted, torn between the bliss of her tongue swirling around his tip and the horror of her possible death. "No!" he hissed.

_Yesssss._

Her mouth moved away and he whimpered in need, hating himself for his weakness.

"It's safe. Trust me."

He let out another needful whimper when she took him in again, as far as it would go. Rational thoughts disappeared, dispersed like colorful butterflies as she worked him, sucked him. There was nothing left to do but to feel and accept, to growl and whimper with the movements of her head. Just let her take him aw—

A scream tore away from him, subharmonics filled with wonder and awe.

A silvery trail ran down Shepard's neck and chin as she pulled away, trickling down on her beautiful, beautiful dress. He stared at her, mellow, boneless, unable to speak. Drained. She had drained him. Claimed him.

Spirits, what should he do to repay her? And how? He couldn't imagine going hard again, not after that.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to a sitting position.

"Hey, hey, take your time, big guy," she protested. He shook his head and reached for her.

That was Shepard. Always putting the needs of others before her, even now thinking of him more than of her desire.

Soon, she won't be able to think.

"And now you're mine," he said, flipping her on her back.

Kneeling between her legs, he kissed her inner thighs and caressed them with his mandibles, working his way up. She tensed up, yelping, when he nuzzled the soaked fabric of her panties. With a little help from his talons, he freed her, exposed her, inhaling her intoxicating scent.

"G-Garrus…" she panted. "Your tongue is going to burn—ah!"

He licked her slit up and down the entire length, savoring her sweet, sweet juice. True, his tongue would swell and burn tomorrow, but for Shepard he would go through worse.

The moan that fell from her lips, guttural and needy, enticed him to repeat the action, finishing with drawing a circle around her nub.

She squirmed and twitched, bucking her hips into his face.

_Not so soon._

He held her down and pulled away a little, tickling her with his breath. She needed to scream, to forget, and for that she needed a buildup.

At least, that's what an article he had read a long time ago said. He only hoped it was true.

Five fingers tugged on his fringe, and tried to push his head forward. Still holding her hips down, he grabbed the offending hand and pinned it against the bed.

"Garrus!" she pleaded. Spirits, he loved her voice when she wanted him.

He licked her again. And again. Caressed her with his mandibles. Pulled away every time she twitched. Ignored her pleas, orders and requests. Enjoyed the way she whimpered.

Finally, he brought one of his long fingers and slipped it inside, finding her sweet spot.

"Ah! Please… Please!" she begged.

His tongue focused on her nub, twisting it, kneading it.

"Yes, don't stop! Don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstop!"

He didn't stop.

Her juices overflowed as she screamed. He let go of her hands, and she gripped his fringe again, nearly breaking his spikes. She pulsed and twitched under him in an unending cycle of bliss and moans. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally stilled and quieted down.

Garrus looked at his mate, his claimed mate as she lay before him, taking in the wet mess that became of her dress and her damp and curled hair entangling her headdress. The most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The long burden of the day finally caught up with him, and he collapsed next to her, pulling her close.

Snuggling up to him, Shepard rested her head on his chest. He freed the headdress from the strands of her hair, and tossed it to the floor. Her breathing slowed as her entire body relaxed.

"Garrus?" The call came in between deep breaths, halfway from the land of dreams.

"Mhm?" His own eyelids were heavy, pulling him down.

"I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Me too, love. Me too."

Sleep found him before she answered.


End file.
